


Punk Phase

by Mystradigans



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas Eve, M/M, Punk!Greg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-10
Updated: 2014-12-10
Packaged: 2018-02-28 23:17:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2750822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mystradigans/pseuds/Mystradigans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Christmas Eve and a teenaged, punky Greg turns up at his 10-year-old Biology tutor's house. He's not expecting to meet Sherlock's older brother, and he's certainly not expecting Mycroft to be so cute...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Punk Phase

**Author's Note:**

> By Emily. It's vaguely Christmassy. Well, nah it's not but Christmas happens to be the setting, so... this got awkward.

It was Christmas Eve and the Holmes Manor was looking especially peaceful today, like a scene from one of the festive cards displayed in the dining room. There was a light dusting of snow covering the ground, and a robin fluttered into the grounds to perch lazily on one of Mrs Holmes' ornate bird bath. It was already beginning to get dark despite being just 3:00 in the afternoon, and it was the kind of cold that could be warned straight away with a mug of tea or hot chocolate by the fireplace.

The garden was silent except for the robin's soft warbling and the gentle lull of cars in the distance, engines coughing in mild protest against the weather. And then, suddenly, it wasn't.

The steadily intensifying sound of a moterbike approaching, accompanied by the noise, in a corresponding crescendo, of 'Bowling For Soup' seemed to come from nowhere. There was a screech as the bike, which was second hand and had weak breaks, turned a corner and pulled into the Holmes' drive, promptly falling over and throwing it's rider into the snow.

"Shit" 17 year old Gregory Lestrade muttered, picking himself up. He snapped off the music and wiped his hands on his tight red jeans that were far too small for him. The bike wasn't damaged as far as he could tell so he stood it back up with a grimace. Right, deep breaths,- he was going in.

It had been Greg's idea to have the tutoring in the first place. His Science grades weren't great and if he wanted to go to University and do Criminology, he'd need to have passed his A-Levels first. He'd not quite been prepared for the tutor to be quite so harsh, or bossy, or young. True, his work had improved drastically since he'd started this but Sherlock was 10. It was a little humbling to be taught by someone so much younger than him, especially when Sherlock would sneer at him as he struggled through Biology, saying things like-

"You're late, Lestrade" Sherlock announced, glaring at him.

"Sorry. The road was all icy so I couldn't drive too fast. Why the hell are we having a session now, anyway? It's Christmas eve, Sherlock"

Sherlock merely rolled his eyes and eyes Greg's top. "Everyday is a Green Day? Seriously?"

"It's a cool shirt" Greg defended. Lestrade was going through what he'd no doubt look back on in his later years as an embarrassing awkward Punk stage of his life. He'd got into it almost four years ago after developing a crush on Billy Joe Armstrong and the punk phase, which had started with messing his hair up before school and listening to rock, had grown and grown and now he had piercings on his tongue and a tattoo of The Little Mermaid on his ankle.

 

"No. Just no." Sherlock groaned. "Got any cigarettes?"

"I'm not giving cigarettes to a ten year old" Greg said bluntly. This was an argument they'd had before. "If I'm going to be here on Christmas Eve then we're doing revision"

 

45 minutes later, Sherlock was getting frustrated.

"Stop thinking" he whined. "You're putting me off."

"I kind of need to, we can't all be geniuses" Greg snapped.

"..Genii" huffed Sherlock.

There was a crash from the stairs behind them. This startled Greg: The Holmes Manor was always completely silent apart from the occasional sound of Sherlock's ranting. Both boys spun around to see what was going on.

And there on the staircase, picking itself up from the floor where it had tripped, was the most beautiful creature Greg had ever seen.

He was in his late teens and tall, with long legs and the most mesmerizing blue eyes. He wore a three piece suit that was almost as elegant as he was and his hair was a dark ginger.

"Mycroft" sighed Sherlock. "Can't you see I'm busy?"

Greg looked at Mycroft with bated breath, waiting anxiously to hear the first words from the beautiful creature's mouth.

"Umm.. Sorry" Mycroft mumbled, gazing in shock at the tattooed, spiky-haired teenager sat in his living room and trying not to fall over again.

"Oh God" groaned Sherlock. "I might vomit. Lestrade, please ignore my brother, he's sexually deprived"

"Wha-?" Greg didn't take in any of Sherlock's words, staring instead at

"..and as if that wasn't bad enough, he went to University two years early and so now he lives in Cambridge, from where he will insist on phoning me every-"

"You're in Uni?" asked Greg, this being the only part of Sherlock's little speech he picked up on.

"Ah, yes" Mycroft told him, also ignoring his brother. "I, er, got a Scholarship"

"A scholarship at Cambridge? Two years early?" Greg whistled. "Wow, you must be even smarter than Sherlock"

Sherlock scowled. Mycroft blushed.

"I'm Greg" he smiled, crossing the room and holding his hand out to shake after surreptitiously wiping it on his jeans.

"Mycroft Holmes" stuttered Mycroft, shaking the offered hand. Mycroft's hand felt warm and soft and it made Greg a bit giddy.

"Please tell me you're joking" Sherlock said disbelievingly. "I thought you'd have better taste than that. Obviously I was wrong to assume that, considering what you're wearing-"

"What's wrong with what he's wearing?" asked Mycroft, glancing down at Greg's tight clothing.

"NO!" shrieked Sherlock, covering his ears. "MAKE IT STOP!"

Greg flushed red, suddenly realizing that he was still staring at the older Holmes. His brain didn't seem to be working, which was awkward really 'cos he kind of needed it right now. "Uhm." he said. "Erm..."

"Gregory-ACH" Mycroft started to say, before he slipped again. He tumbled down the staircase, landing at Greg's feet with a crash.

"Oh shit" Greg yelped. "Here, you alright?"

"..I think so..." Mycroft mumbled.

"You're not normally this clumsy Mycroft, are you ill?" Sherlock mocked. "Or are you just staring at Gr-"

"Shut up!" Mycroft snapped, glaring at him.

Greg knelt at Mycroft's side, trying not to smell his hair. It didn't work at all; Mycroft smelled amazing and now he was kind of trying to figure out what it was he smelt like without making it obvious as to what he was doing. He failed miserably.

But Mycroft, for some reason, didn't lean away from him in disgust. Neither did he call the police, or get a restraining order. He actually sort of.. smiled at Greg shyly, as if he was unaware of the indisputable fact that he was the most gorgeous human being that Greg had ever laid eyes on- more gorgeous than Billy Joe Armstrong and Greg didn't think that was possible- and slowly, subtly, giving Greg plenty of time to pull away, manoeuvres his hand so that his fingers were brushing against Greg's.

And maybe someday, thought Greg, he and Mycroft could look back on the embarrassing Punk stage of Greg's life and cringe together.


End file.
